The Lost Boys
by KaiBlueOtaku
Summary: An encounter with Peter Pan, where he recruits a new Lost Boy, and we learn some interesting secrets of his past... (Mention of self-harm. Transgender themes.) Oneshot, COMPLETED.
"The Lost Boys"

Michelle sat curled up in the arm chair in her room, the low light of the reading lamp casting shadows onto the walls. It was long past bedtime- she figured one or two a.m.- but, she was on spring break, and it's not like she had any reason to be up early in the morning. A half empty mug of tea sat cold and forgotten on the corner of the desk beside her.  
She always marveled at how you could read a book a thousand times, but still, the good ones had a magic that could whisk you away every time. She was absorbed in such a book at the moment: her very favorite, the adventures of Peter Pan and the Lost Boys of Neverland. She knew it was a children's book, and she was fast approaching the last autumn days of her own fading childhood. At fifteen years old, a freshman in high school, she was closing in on adulthood, like the death sentence of a condemned inmate.  
She let out a sharp hiss of pain, and glanced down at her arm, where she had been absently scratching a scab, which had now begun to bleed. She growled in irritation at herself, and reached over to the desk, pulling open a drawer and drawing out a box of bandaids. She covered the wound, then pulled her sleeve back down over it, and tucked the box back into the drawer. Her fingers grazed the familiar, icy metal of a mint tin, and they lingered there, the coldness seeping into her bones, her heart, her soul. It was where she kept her razor blades, painstakingly pried out of a disposable shaver. She rubbed at the bandage she had just placed on her arm, covering layers of new and old scars, inner pain made manifest on her skin, suffering written on a living canvas.  
She slammed the drawer shut and wrapped her arms around her shoulders, tears welling up in her eyes, sadness and anger at the injustice of everything, hatred for this prison of flesh she was trapped silently inside of, with no one to save her. She dug her nails into her upper arms and sobs began to wrack her frame.  
"Why the long face?"  
"Oh Jesus!" she shrieked in terror, her book clattering to the floor in her shock as her eyes frantically scanned the room for the owner of the voice.  
"That's a rather different book, actually, but I'm flattered," said the lithe young man, perched in such a cat-like fashion on the ball of her bed post.  
 _Those eyes, so green,_ she thought, _and such a turned up, impish little nose… pointed ears, and that bird's nest of such shockingly red, red hair,_ she gasped. _It… It couldn't be, surely…_  
"How did you get in here?" she demanded, a tremor in her voice.  
The smirk on his face was one of knowing. "The window, of course… You always did leave it open for me, didn't you Shelly?"  
She gasped in astonishment. "You… You can't be…"  
"But I am," he retorted. "You never answered my question though… What were you crying about?"  
"I… I…" she stammered. "…Peter?"  
His laugher was so full of genuine mirth, so contagious. "I thought we'd already established that, Shelly. Shall we have formal introductions?" He half stepped, half floated off the bed post, and stood before her, very stiffly, and bowed in an exaggerated mockery of the gesture. "Peter Pan of Neverland, so pleased to make your acquaintance," he announced with an overly dramatic flourish of his hand. He glanced up, mischief in his gaze, and Michelle pressed herself back into her chair firmly.  
"But you're just a story," she whispered.  
He shrugged. "That's what they all say. Funny, it's never stopped me, all this time." He laid his hand over hers on the arm of the chair, warm and soft and gentle, and she stared at it, incredulous. "Now," he continued quietly, crouching next to her chair, locking her gaze with his own, "You were telling me about _these_ ," he said as his other hand came to her face and his thumb swiped a tear from her cheek.  
"I… Uhh…" She tugged self consciously at her sleeve, making sure her scars were covered. Peter's hand caught hers and slowly raised the sleeve, to her horror. "Peter, I… No, don't…"  
He stared for a long time, and when he looked back up at her, there were tears in his eyes as well. "Oh, Shelly," he choked, shaking his head and chewing on his lip. "Those are some real battle scars… Who have you been fighting, my friend?"  
Michelle's tears came back full force, and Peter wrapped his arms around her as she wept freely until her tears were exhausted, and she found her voice again. "I'm… I'm growing up. My body is starting to change… Everything is wrong." She sniffled as he sat back a bit. "I should have been born a boy."  
Silent tears fell from Peter's eyes, which he closed tightly, taking a deep breath. "Shelly, I've got something to show you." He pulled up his shirt, revealing two long, horizontal scars at the bottom edge of his pecs. Michelle's jaw dropped, and she gaped, looking back and forth between his eyes and the marks. She raised a hesitant hand, and he took her wrist and pressed her fingertips to his broken flesh. "You're not the only one with scars," he whispered.  
"But… But I…" she stammered.  
Peter grinned, wistful, looking downward almost shyly. "It's theater tradition to have my role played by a young woman, you know…" He pulled his shirt back down as Michelle withdrew her hand. "There's a reason for that."  
Michelle was speechless. Peter took her hands. "My Lost Boys are lost for all sorts of reasons, you know…" He gazed deeply into her eyes. "You're not the only one. You wouldn't be alone."  
She stood, and followed him to the window. Her strict, religious parents… The friendless school she would go back to on Monday… There was nothing holding her here.  
Peter sprinkled her with dust, and she stepped onto the sill, eyes fixed on his, the dark expanse of sky behind him, second star to the right shining brightly.  
"Oh, I meant to ask," Peter said. "What was your name?" She started to speak, but he interrupted her. "I meant… Your real name…"  
The joy could not be contained as feet left the sill, and a voice called out, "Joshua… My name is Joshua."


End file.
